


Deadly Inheritance

by mayonaka_no_sasayaki



Series: Giallo [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-08-23 10:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20241301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayonaka_no_sasayaki/pseuds/mayonaka_no_sasayaki
Summary: Despite the future that's waiting for him, Kise Ryouta has a relatively normal childhood up until now. However, when he stands in front of his mother with Rum and Gin observing them nearby, he's gripped with grief and terror as reality crashes down on him.Or Kise Ryouta is Vermouth’s son and it’s simultaneously the best and worst fact of his life.





	Deadly Inheritance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is my first KnB x DC crossover fic. The premise of this fic is the possibility of how easily Kise's Perfect Copy could be a result of skills taught by Vermouth; who can disguise and mimic anyone she wants. I thought it would be interesting to have Vermouth and Kise as mother and son because they both have this air of 'more than just a pretty face with blonde/blond hair'. The idea has been bugging me for awhile now and I couldn't ignore it, hence, the birth of this crazy fic.
> 
> However, please note that at the moment, I don't have any plans to expand on this AU. I do want to explore it one day, so hopefully I'll get more ideas for it. Until then, please enjoy this oneshot fic!

* * *

**Deadly Inheritance**

* * *

Although Ryouta grew up without his father, he knows that Kise Ryousuke was a good man when he was alive. One of the best, his mother would always say with aching fondness. From pictures and faint memories of yesteryears, Ryouta knows that he inherited his athletic built, amber eyes and cheerful disposition from his father. Despite the fact that he got most of his features from his mother, his father was no slouch in the looks department. Some days, Ryouta wonders if his father had ever taken advantage of his charm. He doesn't think so. His father was a lawyer with a good head on his shoulders. Honest, terrifyingly clever, resolute and with an unbending sense of justice.

Unfortunately, it made him a target for _Them_.

To this day, his mother still curses Karasuma Renya and herself for being the bastard's favourite.

Don't get him wrong, he loves his mother. Truly, he does. Still, it doesn't change the fact that he resents her too for bringing him into a world of blood and death without a fight. It's kinda ironic, really. Despite the future that's waiting for him, Ryouta has a relatively normal childhood up until now. So much so that he thinks he still got time.

He's wrong.

When winter comes; weeks after defeating Jabberwock, he feels the first knot of unease winding in his stomach. Not wanting it to distract him from the Winter Cup, he studiously ignores it while also using that same sense of dread and alarm to drive him forward in helping Kaijou win the Winter Cup. Victory tastes both sweet and sour on his tongue. The urgency under his skin thrums without mercy and he spends his winter break feeling like his execution is near. Especially when his mother hugs him extra tight on New Years. Things finally come to a head once the final semester of his second year in high school begins, when Ryouta spots a familiar black Porsche parked nearby an empty curb at his school after club practice.

Ryouta feels a chill goes down his spine that has nothing to do with the freezing weather.

Shit.

That Porsche can only belong to one person and one person only.

Squaring his shoulders, he quickly glances around before crossing the street. As he nears the vehicle, his heart pounds loudly in his ears and it takes everything in him not to bolt when he spots the familiar silhouette of Gin and Vodka by the driver and passenger seat respectively. A glance at the backseat has his blood run cold as he sees his mother sitting calmly with eyes closed and arms crossed.

_'Times up!'_ singsongs his mind with morbid cheeriness.

Sliding onto the seat next to his mother, he shuts the door closed and leans back against his seat. Clasping his hands tight, he turns his attention to the window and watches as the scenery rolls by with a clenched jaw. The drive is silent and tense. Many times Ryouta has to consciously stop himself from fidgeting as his nerves are steadily shooting through the roof.

Ten minutes in and they're standing in an abandoned warehouse near the docks. Like second nature, he checks every possible exits. He then follows behind his mother as they're led further into the building until they reach a non-descriptive door.

A series of knocks by Gin and the door clicks open. Shuffling in, he sees from the corner of his eye as Vodka closes the door from the outside; standing guard and leaving him alone with his mother and Gin inside a worn down office.

"Welcome, Kise Ryouta."

Barely clamping his mouth shut from the scream that threatens to break past his lips, he swivels around to find the foreboding figure of Rum standing in front of him.

The Syndicate's second in command is here.

Oh.

Oh, no.

_Nonononono._

Expensive heels click on the tiled flooring and he mechanically tears his gaze away from Rum to stare at his mother.

His beautiful, youthful, tragic mother.

Her aqua eyes are apologetic and tired; obvious signs that she fought hard in extending his freedom for just a little while longer. But it's for naught and it shows in the carefully blank, unreadable expression on her face. Staring at her with his blood freezing in his veins and heart roaring in his ears, he bows his head.

Study time is over. No more recon. No more analysis and simulations. The shackles on his person will drag trails of blood on a path that will soon be littered with corpses.

He wants to scream. To yell. To beg and plead.

His talents and skills that he inherited from his mother aren't supposed to be murder weapons. He's found a better outlet for them. These talents are better suited on the basketball court.

On fun and life and safety and happiness.

Not this. Never this.

Being an assassin is the last thing he ever wants to be.

He wants to be an athlete. Wants to continue playing with his friends and rivals and teams that he has yet to be a part of. How is he supposed to touch a ball or step onto the court if he's soaked with blood?

How is he gonna face his Kaijou teammates?

Goddammit.

How is he gonna face his _friends?_ After so long since their fallout in Teikou, he's finally playing basketball with his best friends again. Just recently, they even played in the same team too!

So, why...?

Why!?

A flutter and he feels a coat resting on his hunched shoulders. Raising his head, he sees a curtain of gold hair (the same shade as his) before spotting his mother with her sad eyes that shows his pale, sickly reflection. Swallowing the bile threatening to rise out of his throat, Ryouta shakily clutches the pitch black coat to his suddenly cold body.

"From now on," his mothe— Vermouth begins softly, the regret and guilt barely noticeable in her cool, detached tone. "You will be known as Whisky. Do you understand?"

Sliding his arms into the sleeves, he swallows a few times and quietly clears his throat. If nothing else, he wants to make sure that he won't start sobbing the moment he opens his mouth.

He has plenty of time to do _that_ much once he gets back to his apartment.

It's over. The end.

Standing in front of Vermouth with Rum and Gin observing them nearby, Ryouta is gripped with crushing grief and terror as reality crashes down on him.

He closes his eyes.

"Yes," Whisky replies eventually to the silent room, voice steady despite how numb and hollow he feels. "I understand."

All good things must come to an end, after all.


End file.
